


Step by Step

by mattiebluebird (ScarlettBond)



Category: Jumper (2008)
Genre: Abuse, BAMF!Griffin too now that I think about it, BAMF!Millie, Drowning, Electrocution, Eventual Healthy Coping Mechanisms, F/M, Flashbacks, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, PTSD, Post-Canon, Running away from your problems, Self-Harm, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, enemies to reluctant partners to friends to lovers, like ...a lot, lots of on/off & hate/love relationships, mental breakdowns, mentions of bullying, mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, panic/anxiety attacks, repressing memories and emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettBond/pseuds/mattiebluebird
Summary: He thought he was finally free, away from his father, away from his old life. Free to do what he wanted without constantly fearing the consequences, without fearing fist and blood and bruises.He was wrong.
Relationships: Griffin O'Conner/David Rice, Millie Harris/David Rice
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know this fandom is long past dead, but I saw the movie and was like "I could do this better ...and gayer" so here I am doing it better ...and gayer.

**Prologue**

**World at My Fingertips**

* * *

David Rice has the world at his fingertips -literally _and_ figuratively.

He's on top of a skyscraper in New York, sitting at the edge with his legs dangling over the edge. He surveys the city below, full of light and shadow.

Millie, his crush since fifth grade, the love of his life, is waiting for him in their hotel room. Right now, the possibilities are endless. He can go anywhere, do anything, with the knowledge that his enemies are incapacitated for the time being (hopefully a while).  
He doesn't know what's going to happen next, and he finds he doesn't care. He's an expert at living in the moment, not thinking about anything but _here_ and _now_. 

And right now he feels alive and free and _happy._

He smiles as rain begins to pour, and he jumps away before the first drop can hit him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: excruciating pain, electrocution, blood, starvation/dehydration, mentions of murder, cussing/cursing. Ends at page break (vague mention of blood in paragraphs after page break). Summary will be in end notes if you're interested. Tell me if I should add anything.

**Chapter One**

**Leave Me Here to Die**

* * *

Pain.

That's all there is, all Griffin feels, all he can think about. Searing, burning pain when he's awake, pain when he's unconscious -not really sleeping, not deep enough for that, more like fitful dozing filled with nightmares of lightning racing across his skin and liquid fire flowing through his veins and ropes of hot coals cording through his muscles until he's lit up like a live wire. He wakes up, but his reality is just as bleak. Pain, pain, pain. Burning, cooking flesh.

He fights. Oh, how he fights. But the more he flails and struggles, the deeper the cables dig into his skin, until they're sending little electric jolts straight into his flesh.  
He stops fighting.

In his haze, thoughts are hard to form and even harder to keep, slipping through his fingers like water, darting by like fish, filling his mind like static but too much too loud too _much_ to focus on anything.

But one thought stays clear and strong in his mind, blazing with enough fury and hatred to pierce through the fog of pain: When Griffin gets out of here -and he _will_ get out of here- he is going to _kill_ David Rice.

He will hunt him down step by step, no matter how long it took, over every continent and country if necessary. And when Griffin finds him, he'll kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Without mercy. Other than that, he hasn't gotten very far in his plans.

 _If I'd known the bastard was going to be this much trouble,_ he thought, _I never would've followed him out of that fucking bar._

The thought makes him laugh, which makes him cough, which makes him remember how thirsty and tired he is. He tries to latch onto the thought to distract himself, but it's too late -it's already gone. Re-capturing it would take more effort than he's willing to waste right now.

Back to the pain and exhaustion and dehydration and hunger. When he's not dreaming of lightning invading his being, or of fighting Paladins and watching blood (his or theirs, he's never sure) run in rivers over the ground, or of how much he hates David- _bloody_ -fucking-Rice, he's dreaming of other things. Good things. Mostly just fragmented memories of hanging out in the Lair, as relaxed as he ever was these days. It wasn't a _home_ , but it was a place he knew and loved.

And it was gone now. The Paladins knew where it was. He could never go back.

When he wasn't dreaming of the Lair, he dreamed of his parents, of the few cozy memories he had of them. He dreamed of E.V. He dreamed and he dreamed and he dreamed and he always woke up screaming.

 _Really, though,_ he thought suddenly when he woke up angry from some type of nightmare, something about Paladins and blood and screaming and watching, helpless, helpless, so-fucking- _helpless_ as everything he knew was ripped away from him-

_FUCK David. Leave me here to die, after all I did for him -first Jumper he ever met, taught him everything he knows about the war and the Paladins and our world, and this is how he fucking repays me? Betrays me for some fucking normie and rips away my first good shot at Roland in years and then he leaves me to fucking die and acts like I'm the bad guy? FUCK HIM!_

Fury crackles across him, as loud and all-encompassing as the lightning. So loud, in fact, that at first he doesn't hear it.

Tires against ground. Engines purring.

Trucks. People.

 _Paladins_ is his first thought, and Griffin's really glad he's trained himself to associate _people_ with _danger_ and not _safety_ , because if he'd thought himself about to be rescued that thought would've crushed what little hope he possessed. He's also really glad he's trained himself to prepare for fights until it's all like second nature -fists curled, muscles tensed, eyes on the target, instincts screaming so loud the noise seems to meld into his very being-

- _DANGER GET READY STAND TALL SHOW NO FEAR HAVE NO MERCY GO FOR THE KILL_ -

He looks down at where the trucks approach -Chechnyan men in the backs and machine guns mounted to the roofs. Not Paladins, then. Not exactly friendlies, either.

- _ESCAPE ESCAPE ESCAPE JUMP FOOD WATER DO WHATEVER IT TAKES JUST **GET OUT**_ -

The men have seen him. A few start climbing the fallen tower, planning to cut him down -he hopes. Griffin gets ready to jump the moment hundreds of volts of electricity aren't filling him to the brim with pain. Every muscle coiled and ready.

He doesn't know if he can win this fight, but like hell he's not going to try.

**~**

A hand clutches the top of the cliff, fingernails scrabbling and digging into the rock. Another hand follows. Then arms and a head, followed closely by an entire body.

Roland Cox hauls himself over the edge of the cliff.

He looks worse for wear, clothes torn and bloodied, barely more than a skeleton covered in a layer of thin wiry muscles, covered from head to toe in orange sand and dust.

But as he stands, silhouette black against the rising sun, there's a bonfire lit inside his dark, dark eyes that burns on hatred and spite and its heat fuels him, makes him take that step forward, then another, then another, until he's staggering away into the desert, step by step by broken, stilted step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Basically, Griffin is trapped in the electrical tower for days on end, in constant pain, during which he either has violent nightmares or obsessively plots David's murder. It ends with armed men spotting him and cutting him down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Cussing/cursing, a mild panic attack, paranoia, blood, explicitly described physical abuse, nightmares, flashbacks, derealization (I think? Not sure if it qualifies), self-hatred, repressed memories surfacing, touch aversion, slight self-harm mention (digging your nails into your hands until they bleed). Let me know if I should add anything.

**Chapter Two**

**Glass Shards**

* * *

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu-_

David hits the ground with a jarring thud -no time to recover, roll to the side, grab Millie, jump again- falling, wind whistling in his ears or maybe that's screaming, heart pounding, dizzy with adrenaline, jump again-

Feet hit the ground, sending a shock through his bones. City lights. Horns blaring. People everywhere, huge crowd milling about them. Hand still in Millie's -it stings with scrapes and its clammy and they're both gripping _way_ too tightly but he can't let go, needs to know that she's _there_ and _safe_ \- more running, down an alley then another then down a side street-

Jumping, jumping, jumping.

David stops.

Lets go of Millie's hand and falls to his knees. They're safe now, he thinks. He hopes. They're in one of their safehouses, a remote cabin in the Siberian wilderness. It's cold, _freezing_ , actually -he should get a fire going. Soon.

Millie does it for him. Millie Harris, so strong, so brave and good and passionate and everything he isn't, everything he should be. His heart seizes with guilt every time he looks at her. She shouldn't be here, stuck in the crossfire of a war she had nothing to do with. She should be at home. Safe. Away from him.

"Thanks," he croaks as he feels the warmth hit him like a blazing furnace.

"Don't mention it," she mutters, sitting next to him. Leaning against him, putting her head on his shoulders.

Running. Hiding. Fighting. Jumping. That's what his life - _their_ life, David's and Millie's- has become. An endless cycle.

He'd apologize for bringing her into this, but he already has so many times, and every time Millie has shut him up with a firm kiss. _Don't be sorry,_ she'd say, holding his head in her hands, eyes blazing with determination and loyalty and love. _You're my friend -my_ boy _friend, and I love you. I'd do anything for you. I'm with you, whether you like it or not._

And that, as they say, was the end of that.

He didn't know how she did it. To have her life be suddenly uprooted, be told she could never go home again -how could she love the person responsible for that? It astounded him.

Yet he had his doubts, at times.

About her ( _there in the hesitation before she answered his "Do you love me?"; there in the tears she cried at night; there in the scrapes and bruises and half-healed cuts forming into scars all across her body; there in her recently withdrawn and standoffish attitude; there there there_ ).

About himself ( _here in the tangled web of emotions he couldn't quite decipher; here in wondering if he really knew what love was; here in his memories of years and years and_ years _of being convinced no one would ever love him, that he would die alone and unloved and abandoned, that he was too broken, too_ damaged _for anyone to ever want him and that they'd all leave him sooner or later just like his mom; here in his_ is Griffin okay did he survive did he escape how could I leave him there _; here in his guilt; here in his pain; here in his fear; here in his nightmares; here in his believing he deserved it all; here here here_ ).

About life in general ( _what if they die; what if Millie leaves him; what if Roland hunts them down; what if the Paladins succeed in their mission to wipe them off the face of the Earth; what if Griffin hasn't escaped what if he never did what if David's a murderer and why should he care Griffin was unstable Griffin was trying to kill Millie; what if his mom oh dear God his_ mom _is the one who finds them, what if it's his_ mother _who pulls that trigger, his_ mother _he has to watch end Millie's life before ending his own?; what if what if what if and how long can they run and what's the fucking_ point _of it all?_ ).

These doubts, heavy and persistent as they are, are easily pushed back.

David Rice is a man who's been running his entire life, from memories and emotions and cops and Paladins and his own past and everything else you can think of. At this point, he doesn't really know how to stop. He's not sure he wants to, not sure he wants everything he's been avoiding to catch up with him just yet.

Millie nearly falls over, which is when David notices she's fallen asleep sitting up. He gently lays her down on the wooden floor, as close to the fire as he dares to put her, and throws a blanket over her. She's a restless sleeper, and it would be a shame if she rolled into the fire in her sleep.

David envies her. Lately he's been finding it impossible to sleep. The paranoia, mostly, after their first encounter with the Paladins -they'd been caught off guard and Millie had almost died and he would not, _could_ _not_ let that happen again.

Soon after came the nightmares. At first they were vague, random snippets that left him feeling irrationally stressed and moody. Then they got worse.

Memories. Distorted, but memories nonetheless. Overlapping in most instances: His father beating him as electricity crackled in the background. Millie screaming, writhing in pain as ropes of lightning encircled her. David drowning, trapped beneath the ice. Always afraid and desperate and _afraid_. The emotions are the worst part, he thinks, even worse than the images, because at least those fade and are half-forgotten the moment he wakes up. But the _emotions_. Waking up indescribably panicked and lonely with no idea where you are is a feeling he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Not even Roland.

So now he doesn't sleep. Well, not entirely true -he _has_ to sleep. But he doesn't very often. A few hours here and there.

He often wakes up with a pounding heart, breathing heavily, covered in sweat like he just ran a mile.

David leans his head against the stone wall, lets out a shuddering breath. Right. Just keep moving forward, don't stop to think about the past. Like a shark.

Next. Where will they go next? They need somewhere at least semi-stable, semi-safe, which is as safe or stable as things get for them nowadays. They could stay here, probably a safe bet. _Probably_ being the key word. Or maybe a place somewhere more populated. Higher risk, but Millie would be more comfortable, which would make David hate himself less. Worth it? Possibly.

His thoughts, as always, unwillingly drift to his mom.

_Because I love you, I'm giving you a head start._

_Because I love you._

_Because I_ love _you._

 _Yeah,_ he thought sarcastically, _love me enough to hunt down and kill me and all of my kind. Gee, thanks Mom. Really feeling the love here._ Definitely _feel loved._

He feels the anger stir deep within him, as much a part of him as fear (lain dormant in his eight years away from his father's fist but very much so alive now). It bubbles, barely repressed, threatening to overtake him in a tidal wave of fury and hurt.

David takes a deep, cold breath. Forces it back down. Can't afford to get angry right now.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he does remember the nightmare. He was young -maybe five or six. Right after mom left. Right when dad was at his worst, blaming David for every bad thing that happened.

This is something he'd half-forgotten. He dropped a bowl and it shattered and his dad told him to pick it up then stepped on his hand, crushing it into the glass and kicked him _hard_ in the ribs when he started crying.

He wakes up to a slap in the face and he freaks out. Lashes out, throws frantic punches. Hears a yelp.

He realizes where he is, who he just hit. "Fuck, I'm sorry Millie, I'm so so sorry," he says.

"It's fine," she says, though her voice is shaking a little. "You were having a nightmare. You're fine now. You're here with me."

She doesn't say _You're safe_ because that's not true and Millie isn't a liar.

She reaches out to grab his hand and he flinches away, doesn't even register the action until he sees the way Millie's face falls, not with hurt but with pity.

So she knows what he was dreaming about.

"You were crying," she said, softly. "Heard you say 'I'm sorry' and then you started thrashing. Had to wake you up before you hurt yourself."

David looks away, feeling oddly ashamed for a reason he can't quite name. He sees his hands and realizes they're shaking. "Thanks," he mutters, feeling automatic defenses raising, the need to-

- _deflect take away the attention don't let her see you like this_ -

He takes a deep breath, looks back at her, lets his expression turn slightly amused as he touches his cheek, which is still stinging from the force of her slap. "Did you have to hit me so hard?" He asks. "That's gonna leave a mark."

Millie rolls her eyes as she sits next to him. "Oh please, I barely touched you,." There's a good six inches of space between them, but it's not enough. Having her this close makes him feel jittery. Nervous. Scared. Instincts born from a different time rise up-

- _oh God don't let her touch you she could strike at any moment be ready be careful make yourself a smaller target protect your head don't say anything don't provoke her don't even breathe_ -

He tries to subtly move away, pressing into the wall, but Millie notices and shifts away. Now they're a foot apart.

David doesn't understand. He desperately wants her to hold him, but touching her makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. He wants the comfort without the _comforting_ part.

She's looking at him expectantly. Is she waiting for an explanation? His throat closes up at the thought of telling her, and he can't, he just can't, every instinct fights against it-

- _don't let her see how weak you are she'll leave or use it against you don't let her know the memories haunt you she'll know you can't protect her deflect deflect do it_ _NOW_ -

"I don't remember what I was dreaming about," he lies, voice hollow. "Something about my dad. I'm fine now."

Millie doesn't look convinced, but accepts it. "Think you can go back to sleep?" She ask, voice still full of pity and another shot of panic goes through him-

- _fuck fuck fuck she KNOWS oh God she knows you're lying she knows you're weak she knows everything you've let her too close_ -

His hands are still shaking and he feels so _scared_ and he doesn't understand. Before tonight the memory hadn't even bothered him -he'd remembered it perfectly, down to the last detail, but the _emotions_ , those had been faded, like he'd seen it play out on screen, like he hadn't actually _been_ there.

Or before tonight it had been. Now it's like a dam has broken and the memory is right there with him, like he could look down and see the cuts covering his hands, little glass shards still in them, feel the purpling bruises on his chest and sides-

Breathing is going weird again. It does that occasionally. It's like a rubber band wrapped around the bottom of his ribs, constricting his lungs and preventing him from breathing in as deep as he should be, cutting off his air flow.

In.

Out.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He's fine.

This will pass.

He swallows, realizes Millie has been waiting for an answer for over thirty seconds. _No_ , he thinks. _I cannot go back to sleep now. Or ever_.

"Yeah," he lies for the second time that night.

It's dark now, he notices. When they got there it was dusk, the sun painting the sky fiery shades of orange and red, deepening into purple and indigo. Now the sky is black and glittering with millions of stars. The fire is still blazing, but it's not enough to stave off the subzero temperatures.

His breathing is still wrong, but bearable. Like after a brisk run. Uncomfortable? Yes. Life-threatening? No.

In.

Out.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He moves closer to the fire. He feels less jittery, less scared. He thinks maybe he could handle touch now.

"You can ..." He trails off, suddenly embarrassed. Here he is, asking Millie to hold him and soothe him like a child.

- _pathetic weak stupid you shouldn't be asking this of her not after everything she's done for you not after everything you've done to her you should be able to sort out your own fucking problems_ -

"Nevermind," he mutters, clenching his jaw so tightly he fears his teeth might shatter. The only alternative is to dig his nails into his palms until they bleed, and he doesn't want that right now. He'd like to make it one day without hurting someone, even if it's himself and he deserves it.

"No, it's fine," Millie rushes to say. Apparently something in his expression asks _Is it really?_ because she repeats it firmly. "It's _fine_ , David."

She lays next to him, throwing the thick blanket over them both and huddling close. His breathing is still weird, though it's slightly better than before. He unclenches his jaw, forces himself to relax.

Millie takes his hands, meaning to entertwine their fingers-

( _cuts glass pain fear the heel of a boot pressing, pressing, pressing his tiny hands into the shards screaming crying bruised ribs and his dad so angry, yelling and why was he like his just stop **crying**_ )

- _don't let her touch you why are you letting her touch you she could hurt you so easily all she has to do is dig in her nails or tighten her grip or strike_ -

-and he reacts without thinking, jerking his hands away like she'd shocked them.

"Don't touch my hands," he says a little too sharply.

( _he can still feel the memory and emotion buzzing beneath his skin, pulsing, begging to be let out_ )

"Please," he adds more softly.

He's glad Millie's face is hidden by shadow, because he's not sure he could stand another deeply pitying look.

"Okay," she whispers, and huddles close again.

In.

Out.

Inhale.

Exhale.

And just like that, his breathing is back to normal. He takes deep, gasping breaths, basking in the way he can finally _breathe_ properly, feeling the dizziness dissipate with every breath.

David falls asleep.

And outside, a hunter watches through narrowed eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin is hit with the horrible, horrible realization that he has to leave David Rice alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but I _could not_ decide what to write from Griffin's POV.
> 
> Warnings: cussing/cursing, self-harm (again, digging your nails into your skin), Paladins being Paladins (that is to say: murder), Griffin being Griffin (that is to say: violent, vengeful, etc.), blood. Let me know if I should add anything!

**Chapter Three**

**The Hunter, The Prey, and The Righteous Man**

* * *

Finding David was _pathetically_ easy.

He supposed it wasn't David's fault. Not everyone was as skilled at disappearing as Griffin. _Then again,_ he thought, _most Jumpers have spent their entire lives on the run and know how to stay the_ fuck _down, unlike_ you _because you_ somehow _remained unscathed for_ years _living in one of the most populated cities on_ Earth, _you lucky bastard._

And just like that he's angry again, and yeah, he could kill right now. He didn't have a bat; instead he'd borrowed a toy from a Paladin (and by "borrowed", he meant "taken and killed him for it"). He recognized it from countless battles, a handheld black tube with four prongs on the end. It gave a hell of a shock, too.

He'd gotten a lot of toys from Paladins in the last few weeks. They'd been easy enough to pick off, not seeming as coordinated as usual. He suspected it had something to do with their leader (or at least a person of power) being left in a desert cave for almost a week.

(And that's something Griffin can almost, _almost_ respect David for. Almost.)

Griffin's pretty sure it is because of that, which pisses him off a bit. The Paladins seemed to agree with him- he remembered snippets of conversation he'd heard:

_Roland's a little obsessed with this Jumper, ain't he?_

_Don't let him hear you say that. It's a revenge thing, I think._

He realized his hands were clenched into fists and forced himself to relax. Whatever. If Roland was so hellbent on finding David, maybe it'd piss him off if Griffin got to him first.

He finally makes it to the window of the log cabin they're holed up in. He glances in through a window, then allows himself to look since David and his girlfriend -Millie or Mal or _whatever_ \- are both asleep.

Griffin is always, _always_ thinking, the gears in his mind constantly turning, every piece of data being analyzed from every possible angle. It's become subconscious by this point, to size up a room or a situation or a person with one glance - _can I jump nearest weapon could I beat them in a fight?-_ and decide the best course of action.

Some may call it intelligence or hyper-vigilance. He calls it survival.

Maybe this is why, as he stands there watching them through the window, it all falls into place with startling clarity:

_Despite the fact they now have almost all of Griffin's knowledge, he hasn't been tracked by any Paladins- he'd heard Paladins talking about Roland like he'd gone mad- more Paladins than usually assigned to one Jumper have been tracking David, which means Roland has been directing as many resources as possible toward finding David Rice, which means-_

_FUCK._

Griffin is hit with the horrible, horrible realization that he has to leave David Rice alive.

Not because of any lingering sympathy he may have for him, but because as long as he's still alive the Paladins, or at the very least Roland, are _distracted_. And, for once, they're easy to track.

Griffin makes a sound far back in his throat between a snarl and a growl, and jumps to the motel room he's staying in. Without a moment's hesitation he punches the wall so hard his fist goes clean through.

He turns on his heel, muttering to himself - _little prick I hope Roland catches him and makes his death_ hurt _._ He brings his hand up to run it through his hair and stops.

Crescent marks have been left in his palms. They're deep and bleeding. He curls his hand back into a fist, and his nails fit into the marks perfectly.

It just makes him angrier.

* * *

Roland Cox is a righteous man.

More than this, he is a devoted man, one who knew from the moment his father told him of Jumpers - _horrible, arrogant bastards that do as they please and damn the consequences, abominations of God that flaunt a power no man should have_ \- and Paladins - _warriors of God, protecting the innocent from what they can never know_ \- that he would dedicate his life to this war.

His father was not a kind man, though he might've been a loving one in his own strange way. He taught Roland to fight like every match was life-or-death. Hit the mat. Get up and do it again. _Again_. Think a Jumper will wait for you to get your bearings? Now do it faster. How can I trust you'll be a great Paladin if you can't do a simple parry? Aim better. Move faster, always faster, because Jumpers are above all _fast_.

When Roland's father died, he left nothing to his son but a crucifix. Roland wears it around his throat as a reminder: _Do it for God_. _Do it again and do it better (like his father did, and his father before him, and his father before h-)._

Roland Cox is not a cruel man, just a cold one. He does what needs to be done.

It's why he's standing outside a nice house in a nice neighborhood in Ann Arbor, Massachusetts, clutching his crucifix so tightly he thinks his palms might be bleeding. It's why he knocks and introduces himself to the woman living there as Nico Rollins, an FBI agent. It's why he asks her everything she knows about her daughter, Millie Harris.

It's why, when she turns out to know nothing, he kills her. A quick, clean shot to the head; cold, not cruel.

_Are they evil too? Jumpers' parents?_

_Hate the monster, Roland. Pity the ones who bore it_.

* * *

Millie _screams_ when she sees it.

She screams so loudly and for so _long_ David thinks it's a wonder her lungs don't collapse under the strain. The scream dissolves into horrible, broken sobs, and David-

Just _stands_ there in stunned silence, mind white-blank but also screaming _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ on loop, and it's his father's death all over again, the body laying still on the floor and the terrifying, _absolute_ _certainty_ that it's too late.

Except this time, there's blood. There's _so much blood_.

David throws up in the sink.

After, when he thinks he can stomach it, he goes into the living room. Millie is cradling her mother's body to her chest. David doesn't know how to help, doesn't know if he _can_ , so he kneels beside her as she weeps.

He doesn't know how to feel or even _what_ he's feeling other than shock. He'd never been particularly close to Mary Harris, but what memories he did have of her were warm: she'd made him cookies, once, when he came to Millie's house. She'd been a _good_ person.

David had been devastated by his father's death, and he hadn't even _liked_ him; to lose a parent like that, one that's loving and kind and everything a parent should be? He can't imagine the pain she must be in.

Millie speaks, almost startling him. "David," she says, and he can tell it's an effort through her tears. "We can never- we can't-" She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath. "We can never stop running, not until-" She hiccups. "Not until they're gone."

They'd both known that, of course, but it'd gone unspoken until now. He nods in silent confirmation.

Millie goes back to sobbing, though she finally lays her mom's body on the floor. When she speaks again, her voice is surprisingly strong.

"We're going to kill the bastard that did this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment; I feed off of them.


End file.
